


What Spiders Do in the Shadows

by Machiavelien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dom Peter Parker, Existential Angst, F/M, MJ is a Vampire, Peter Parker is a Mess, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Vampire Bites, Vampire!MJ, Vampires, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machiavelien/pseuds/Machiavelien
Summary: A mysterious stranger has been watching Spider-Man, eager for a taste of that super-powered blood. A vampire MJ/Peter story.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 63
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Gravedigger by MXMS](https://open.spotify.com/track/4zo6O0UO5Kz6ZT0CpTCCb3?si=R_Q7qbujSvuPGK7ujPyYfg)
> 
> Check out [Kaz's artwork here](https://kazkazoozoo.tumblr.com/post/190733000585/vampire-mj) and  
> [ here ](https://kazkazoozoo.tumblr.com/post/614032180511997952) that inspired this fic!

_“I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you.” —T.S. Eliot, East Coker_

====

"I'm telling you, that girl's been giving you fuck-me eyes all night," insists Harry, pointing his beer bottle towards the back corner of the bar. 

"Or I've got something on my face," says Peter, turning away to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks. 

But Peter could tell that she’s been watching him even before his friend pointed her out. He could feel her gaze linger on him all night, even when he wasn't looking, like a hand stroking his neck and down his back. 

"Maybe she knows you?" Ned suggests.

"I think I'd remember meeting her," says Peter, shrugging both of his friends off.

But that's a lie. He has met her—last night, in fact. Except he was masked as Spider-Man, and she never saw his actual face.

His spider sense kept going off while he was out patrolling, though he couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary all night. At one point, the tingling got so intense and persistent that Peter wondered if he was being followed. But then the feeling was gone, vanished into the air like smoke.

He was about to call it a night when he caught sight of some creep following a woman down an empty street, and the sensation returned. His spider-sense can tell when there was a predator nearby, and it was screaming in his head right then. 

After Peter ran the guy off, he dropped down beside the woman to check if she was alright. He vaguely remembers babbling something incoherent and embarrassing when he tried to introduce himself, too distracted by the way she was eyeing him, half-curious and half-shocked. He even shook her hand. Why did he shake her hand? And then he was off, swinging into the night before getting her name.

The woman couldn't possibly know what Peter looks like beneath the mask to suspect that he’s Spider-Man. So why has she been staring at him all night? Maybe she's actually interested in him as Peter Parker?

"Black goth chicks are so hot," says Harry, throwing an arm around Peter's shoulders. He steers him around to face the woman again, who’s looking away and sipping a glass of red wine. "I bet she's a total freak in bed, too. Check out the nose ring and choker necklace—"

"Shut up, Harry," says Peter, elbowing his friend off again. Harry is already tipsy, and he tends to lose his verbal filter the drunker he gets.

"Yeah, what about Liz? You know, your _fiance_?" asks Ned, reminding Harry that the three of them were out celebrating his recent engagement in the first place.

"And I love my dearly betrothed with every single fiber of my being," Harry says theatrically, rolling his eyes. When Peter and Ned glare at him, he crosses his arms and huffs, "What? I can't even live vicariously through Parker now? Who, by the way, is not making the most of being single at all."

"Just go talk to her, dude,” says Ned, nudging Peter encouragingly. “Dazzle her with that classic Parker charm!" 

"Leeds, we’re trying to get Parker laid, not laughed out of the bar," adds Harry. "Unless she's into pity fucks, which, y’know, might be better than nothing."

“Thanks guys, but this is Harry's night,” says Peter, smiling tightly at his friends, "not about me hooking up."

"But it would really make my night if my best man stopped being a sad sack and at least tried to meet someone," says Harry. "When's the last time you were out on a date?"

Tracing his thumb along the condensation collecting on his beer glass, Peter tries not to think back on a disastrous blind date over six months ago. He knew that being Spider-Man would always be at odds with his love life, whether he was pissing someone off or endangering anyone who got too close to him.

 _It was too soon._

_How long until it's not too soon anymore?_

While he appreciates his friends’ efforts, Peter doesn't see the point to dating. It always goes sour when he inevitably misses another date or shows up inexcusably late again because of Spider-Man stuff.

Or he's too late to save her, and he’ll be left holding her ragdoll body—blue eyes staring at nothing, flaxen hair still shining in the sun as if his world hadn't just ended.

 _It was too soon._

"Even if it doesn't go anywhere, doesn't hurt to say hi," suggests Ned. "Maybe make a new friend?"

Peter takes another sip of his beer to prolong his response. He wants to humor his friends, he really does. They just want him to be happy. But the very thought of making small talk with strangers, trying to get someone's number _—_ and maybe a perfunctory hook-up followed by an awkward morning exit _—_ sounds exhausting, and Peter isn't up for going through the motions again tonight.

“Next time,” Peter promises, prompting both Harry and Ned to let out exaggerated sighs. 

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Harry grumbles, waving at the bartender for another round. "A magic sign? Or are you just looking for a girl that can't die?"

Peter slams his empty glass down on the bar harder than he means to, but the way it makes both Harry and Ned jump is exactly how he feels, too.

_Don't be dead, Gwen—I don’t want you to be dead! I saved you… don't you see?_

"I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't mean…"

"I know," Peter snaps. He clears his throat and says more calmly, "It's okay."

The three of them drink in in silence for a few moments until Ned breaks the ice.

"She wouldn't want you to be miserable," he says quietly. "Gwen would've demanded that you get yourself together and live your life."

He's right, Peter knows, as much as he's loath to admit it. It’s been over three years since he lost his fiance, and Peter's been living in the shadow of his former life, half-awake and barely dragging his feet through his day. Swinging around in his suit is the only time he feels alive anymore.

But none of that makes approaching strangers any easier. 

"What if she wants to be left alone?" asks Peter, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t want to be _that_ guy at the bar.”

"Listen to us, Petey, okay?" says Harry, bringing the three of them into a huddle, the previous tension dissipating. "Nedward and I have cracked the code on the finer sex, whereas you can't even tell when a girl is giving you _the look_. And hot goth chick is definitely giving you _the look_ right now!"

“It’s true,” says Ned, handing Peter a fortifying shot of something that smells like rubbing alcohol. “She’s definitely staring at you, dude. Major come hither vibes.”

With a sharp exhale, Peter gives in and turns his head toward the woman. He catches her looking at him this time and smiles. She doesn't smile back, but she doesn't glance away either, and just keeps her intense gaze leveled at him.

He lets out a surprised little laugh, wondering if he's supposed to go over to her now that they've made eye contact and she didn't seem completely disgusted. He looks back down at the shot in his hand, which isn't trembling, so that's good. He's good. He'll take the shot on his way over, nice and casual, and say hi.

Talking himself up in his head, Peter takes several deep breaths and reminds himself that he faces real danger every day as Spider-Man. This is just saying hi to a stranger—a beautiful stranger who doesn't know what she'd be getting into with him. A beautiful stranger who might regret meeting him.

With another deep breath, Peter spins on his heels and begins to march toward the back bar, only to slam his chest right into someone.

"Shoot! I'm so sorry!"

He almost drops his drink but manages to catch it in time with his reflexes, though the liquid sloshes over his hand.

"Impressive," says a cool sultry voice from above him.

It's her. The woman who's been watching him, the woman from last night. She's even more stunning up close. Peter takes in her dark red lips and smoky kohl-lined lashes. Her eyes are glowing. Hypnotizing. 

"You've been staring at me all night," Peter blurts out as he shakes the liquor off his fingers. Great, real smooth. _Kill me now._

The woman tilts her head, vaguely amused, but doesn't say anything. 

"I'm Peter," he introduces himself, holding out his cleaner hand.

She takes his hand. "Michelle. But you can call me MJ." Her lips curve into a small grin, and Peter's heart beats painfully fast as he shakes her hand.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, his hand still clasped around her cool palm.

"You saw me with a drink before. Trying to get me hammered and let my guard down?" 

"What? No! Of course not—"

Her dark eyes flick towards his half empty shot glass, glittering with laughter, though her lips remain unmoved.

"You're messing with me," Peter realizes. "You just wanted to mess with me."

MJ finally smiles this time, a little crooked side smirk that's almost awkward. “You make it easy."

"I'm easy in lots of ways. Wait, no! I mean I make lots of things easy. Uh, look easy, that is," says Peter, wincing.

What is wrong with him? Why can't he speak like a normal person when he's not wearing a mask? Dumb. He's almost glad Harry and Ned aren't here to witness his fumbling, having ditched him the moment they saw Michelle coming over. 

But she just calls him a dork and bites her lip again, holding back from saying something. 

That makes him smile from ear to ear, feeling both relieved and excited. Peter doesn't know why he's so intensely drawn to her. Maybe because she's beautiful and mysterious and a little bit terrifying—and because she might actually like him?

"So, what are you up to tonight?" he asks, fidgeting with the straw from his empty drink.

"I dunno, maybe watch you some more."

"Sounds like you're obsessed with me," Peter says, a heady thrill rushing up into his head. 

"No, I'm just observant," she shrugs. "Besides, a girl can't be too careful these days. Who knows what kind of monsters are lurking out there? Or secret superheroes, if you're into that."

His eyes jump from her lips to her eyes, and his breath hitches. "And what are you into, MJ?"

"You'll have to find that out for yourself."

Peter lets out a chuckle. "Why do I keep feeling like you're bad news for me?"

"Because I am, dork," MJ replies coolly, "and you'll be lucky to make it out alive when I'm done with you."

Peter's pretty sure she's flirting with him now, which emboldens him a bit. "Well, I've gotten myself out of sticky situations before, it's kinda my specialty, actually."

MJ gives him a knowing grin that makes him want to tell her all of his secrets, even his masked vigilante one, just to please her.

He swears she must be hypnotizing him somehow—he can almost feel the tug in his head, his vision blurring until all he sees is her face, glowing and irresistible. He could happily drown in her, and sink into the depths of her…

"You okay?" MJ's voice cuts through the dim of the loud crowd, causing Peter to shake himself out of his trance.

"Bars aren't really my scene," he shouts over to her, "but I’m not ready for this night to be over yet. Do you want to maybe go somewhere else and—"

"Yes," she says quickly.

Peter blinks at her. “Yes... like you want to go?” 

"Yes," MJ repeats, nodding encouragingly. 

Peter stares back at her dumbly, not expecting to get this far with her. He doesn't even know where to take her—his apartment is a mess, and he probably left his Spider-Man suit and web fluid lying around. Spending all his nights patrolling, he doesn't know any trendy or impressive places he could take her on such short notice, and he's definitely not asking Harry for a suggestion.

"Come home with me," says MJ, almost too soft for him to hear. 

He could make her repeat herself and tease her, like Harry taught him, but Peter just nods and says, "I'd like that."

He's rewarded with a slow hungry smile that spreads across her lips. "Good."

"Awesome," he breathes out, still unable to believe his luck. "I’ll close my tab and see you outside in ten minutes?”

“Meet me outside in five minutes,” she grins, tucking her hair behind her ear. "And I really hope you're not some sort of serial killer, Peter."

===

Shelves of books line the walls of Michelle's pre-war apartment, and towering stacks of leather-bound tomes fill the spaces between her antique-looking furniture. Melted candles and burnt incense sit atop various surfaces, and the perfumed air hangs heavy.

Peter hovers over the mantle and points at the old black and white photographs of a woman who looks a lot like Michelle.

"Oh cool, was your grandmother a suffragette or something? She looks like she's at a protest in this one."

"Yeah, that was with the first women’s abolitionist group for blacks and whites, the Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society," MJ says with a hint of pride as she gestures for him to sit on the velvet sofa. "She—um, my great grandmother—was also one of the key organizers of the Fifth National Women’s Rights Convention in 1854."

"That's awesome. She sounds like she was a formidable lady," Peter grins. 

"Yeah, I've got some shit-stirring tendencies in my blood," says MJ. "Want something to drink?" 

He nods, and just as she disappears into the kitchen, his phone buzzes.

 **_Harry_ ** _: You better be balls deep right now_

Peter frowns and quickly types a response before MJ gets back.

 **_Peter_ ** _: dude chill with that, I really like her_

 **_Harry_ ** _: wtvr_

 **_Harry_ ** _: does she have anything else pierced?_

"Everything okay?"

Peter jumps when MJ appears right beside him, and drops his phone with a yelp. He must be a little tipsy, because he didn't notice her return at all. He scrambles to pick up his phone again and hide the screen.

"You read a lot," he says, gesturing at her book piles and immediately cursing himself for saying such stupid stuff. Why can't he be smooth, just once?

"I have a lot of time on my hands," MJ replies simply, sitting down beside him with an open pomegranate in hand.

Up this close, he can make out the dark circles under her haunting eyes and how pale her lips are beneath her fading lipstick. 

Peter blinks and asks, "What else do you do with your time? Aside from reading and stalking handsome strangers in bars?"

She breaks open the pomegranate along the cleave and looks up at him. "Are you always so interested in your one-night-stands' entire life story?"

"What? No. I mean, I don't usually do this," says Peter, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Have sex?"

"Go home with people I've just met," he clarifies, his face growing hot again. "Anyway, is it so bad that I want to know more about you?"

MJ tilts her head, eyeing him curiously. "You don't need to keep doing that, you know, acting like you care. You already got me to take you home."

Her fingers are stained red as she digs into the pomegranate, plucking the plump seeds and sucking at them one by one. The juice bursts on her lips, darkening her pout, and Peter's spider sense is ringing in his ears like an incessant alarm.

 _"But he surreptitiously got a pomegranate seed into me,"_ MJ recites, holding out the other half of the fruit to Peter, " _a honey-sweet food, and made me taste it against my will_.”

Peter takes it from her, smiling teasingly. "You don't need to serenade me with Greek poetry, you already got me to come home with you." Looking at the fruit in his hands, he decides to go for it. "Can I kiss you?”

Her golden brown eyes are wild, burning with something more than desire. Hunger. 

Tilting her face up to him as an invitation, MJ parts her red lips, the sharp edge of her white teeth flashing. 

His mouth closes over hers, and he pulls her in with a hand behind her neck. He can taste the faint tart sweetness of pomegranate juice on her tongue, and her lips are soft and cold. 

Her fingers are digging into his back while they continue to kiss, and she arches into him. The tingling creeps across the back of his neck again, warning of imminent danger, but he pushes it away.

MJ straddles Peter on the sofa and tilts his head back into the cushions so she can suck on his throat. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she tugs his head back further, and he lets out a groan when she nips particularly hard at the skin by his jaw. 

It hurts just right, and he drops the half eaten pomegranate on the floor. Giving into an aggressive impulse, Peter rolls himself on top of MJ and buries his face between her breasts, inhaling her strangely alluring and ethereal scent—like dead flowers and overripe berries.

Pulling down the top of her dress, he mouths and sucks at the exposed skin of her cleavage, fighting the temptation to leave a mark. Peter wonders if she's as excited as he is, because he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest each time she sighs in pleasure because of him.

That's when he realizes what's off about MJ, what he's sensed this whole time but kept ignoring.

"You don't have a heartbeat," Peter gasps, sitting up. 

It's unmistakable now, with his super hearing and senses; he can hear all the voices and footsteps in the neighboring apartments surrounding them, but only one set of heartbeats in this apartment, and it's thundering in his chest right now.

"Are you… dead?"

"Do I feel dead to you?" MJ asks, her face impassive, taking his hand and sliding it up under her dress. Peter groans when he feels how wet and hot she is down here.

"But your heart—it's not… there?"

"Not the first time I've been called heartless," she smirks, baring her sharp canines and running the tip of her pink tongue against her teeth. "Are you scared?"

He should be. His spider-sense knew she was dangerous all along, but Peter might have let himself be blinded to the obvious. He wanted her so badly, was so caught up in the idea of wanting someone again, someone who wanted him just as much, that he missed the obvious warnings his own body kept trying to tell him.

But instead of terror, a morbid curiosity and new sense of boldness takes over him, and he pulls his hand out from between MJ's legs and reaches around to squeeze her ass. "No. I'm not scared. Not of whatever you are, at least."

_Death._

MJ's soft smile turns vicious. "Because you think your superpowers can save you?"

His eyes widened at that. "Uh, no, what? I don't have superpowers—"

"I know what you are," MJ presses, her pupils dilated and glinting red in the dim lamplight. " _Who_ you are. I can smell it in your blood. I could smell it last night, too, and the moment you walked into the bar tonight."

Peter raises his eyebrows at her, keeping his voice calm. "Oh yeah? Then say it. Out loud.” MJ bites her lips to keep from laughing, and he repeats, “Say it!" 

" _Spider-Man_ ," she hisses, her eyes never leaving his. "I've been watching you. I know the things you can do."

"Are you afraid?" Peter asks with as much bravado as he can muster. 

"Of a skinny white boy in spandex? No," she snorts, reclining against the sofa cushions. "In fact, that was my dinner that you ran off last night. You made a girl go hungry, Spidey, so I think you owe me a meal."

"Well, I'd love to take you out to dinner sometime," Peter shoots back, trying not to let his voice crack. "Hope you like pizza, though. Can you even eat pizza?"

"I'd rather have you for dinner," she replies, baring her fangs.

"Uh, so no pizza then?" says Peter, still hyper-aware of his own anxious perspiration and rapid heartbeat. 

Her eyes are glowing with a preternatural light that burns right into him, and he's ready to do anything she tells him to. He must have said that last bit out loud, because a wide grin spreads across MJ’s dark lips.

She opens her mouth so Peter can touch the sharp points of her teeth with his finger tips. He runs his thumb across her full lips, and MJ starts sucking on his fingers while he cradles her face in his hand, and his brain stops working.

But he can't take his eyes off the menacing points of her white fangs. When he pricks his fingers against one of the sharp tips, an image of MJ, naked and writhing in his bed, flashes in his mind, as vivid as a real memory, right down to the flush on her cheeks to the jiggle of her breasts.

Peter shakes his head to clear it, looking down to watch MJ slide his fingers out of her mouth.

"Are you okay? Sorry, I know it's bad manners to play with my food," she says, licking her lips. "Want to do something else?"

"Sure," Peter agrees hastily. "Anything you want."

"Anything? How about a little taste then," she suggests, crawling to sit in Peter's lap. 

Her glowing red eyes are fixed on her prey, but when Peter blinks, her eyes are honey brown again, deceptively warm and inviting.

"Look, I know you've been hypnotizing me or whatever you call it. Glamoring, is that what you call it? But I want to be here, really."

MJ snorts. "Are you serious? That's not a thing, Peter. Vampires don’t have, like, magic powers."

"But you made me feel like… I'd do anything for you." 

"Must be my charming personality," she deadpans, then says more seriously, "and I’d never _make_ you do anything."

He bites the inside of his lip, knowing he can't deny her—he doesn't want to. When he finally nods and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to her, MJ turns to straddle him.

Her lips graze his neck, cool and soft, sending shivers through his entire body as she looks for the perfect spot.

Then he feels it, the sharp pricks in his neck, followed by a deeper ache as her fangs sink into the muscle and tendons connected to his shoulder. 

The rush from that first taste of blood ignites MJ's appetite, and her slow sucking soon becomes a ravenous frenzy.

It should hurt, Peter finds himself thinking hazily, but all he feels is a numb sort of ecstasy as heat floods across his skin. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, the blood rushing and pumping, her throat swallowing greedily.

Her head rolls back and Peter catches her in his arms when she collapses. Her dark lashes are fluttering rapidly, and her breaths shallow, lips stained and smeared with blood

"You taste so good," she moans, the blush rising in her cheeks now that she's filled with his blood. "I've never… You taste like nothing I've ever had before."

Peter touches his neck where the two pricks have already begun healing. They'll be gone soon and won't even leave any scars—as if the bite was never there in the first place.

But MJ is still reeling from the taste of him, giggling and drunk, and a thin trickle of his blood drips down her lips, spotting onto her breasts.

He can't stop himself. Peter wraps a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her face close to his throat, bringing her lips right against the pulsing artery. His Spider-sense is screaming, reacting to MJ's hunger and barely restrained desire to attack and feed on him.

"Open your mouth," he murmurs in her ear. "I know you want to, I can feel it. You're shaking." 

Her hungry eyes glare up at him, her breaths heavy and slow as she licks her lips. "You might regret that," she pants. "I won't be able to control myself if I have any more."

"Do it. Bite me," he commands, gripping her tighter. Feeling her thrash against him while she was feeding excited Peter in a way he’s not ready to process yet, but he knows he wants more of it.

Her eyes go soft when she gives in, like she's in a trance, and Peter feels her fangs sink into his neck again. They sink in more smoothly this time, cutting into his skin and carotid artery.

His heart is pounding in his ears, hot and throbbing with that incessant drumming, getting louder and louder. He breathes through his teeth, his head tipped back, throat taut and open.

He'd happily submit to her, he decides, and let her use him to satiate her appetite anyway she likes. _Last thoughts of a dead man..._

Peter listens to his blood rushing out of his body, getting more and more lightheaded the longer MJ feeds on him. He can also feel her body getting warmer by the second as she keeps sucking. 

"Give me your arm," she gasps, pushing herself off his chest and away from his neck. "I'll drain you too fast with your neck. Wide vessels."

Nodding, Peter brings his arm around her head. Burying her face into the crook of his elbow, hands wrapped around his forearm and bicep, MJ bites down into the artery with a moan. 

Looking up at him as she sucks on his arm, MJ squeezes his muscles and licks up any stray crimson trickles. The stiffness in his pants immediately reacts to the wet sounds of her mouth and tongue, and he flexes his arm, tightening his hold around her.

"That's it, keep sucking just like that," Peter croons softly, running his fingers through her hair as she keeps working at his arm. She starts slowing down as she gets fuller, and Peter's super-healing continues replenishing his blood platelets faster than she can drain him.

When he feels her shudder and release her grip on him, Peter wraps his arms around MJ's waist, allowing her to bury her face into his chest when she's done. Her cheeks and lips are flushed now, filled with rosy color, face golden and darker than her bloodless pallor before. 

“Your turn?” asks MJ, turning around to sit up on her knees. She's still panting, full and satisfied, but her eyes are wide and hopeful. 

Dazed, Peter stares at the bloodstains on her lips and the dark red drops on her collarbone running down between her breasts. 

"Not for you to drink blood, dummy," MJ clarifies. "Your turn to… feel as good as you made me feel."

He thinks she's taunting him at first, but her breath is low and heavy and her skin is hot, and he thinks MJ might want him just as badly as he wants her. Swallowing thickly, he nods and lets her climb on top and undress the rest of him. 

The air around them feels heavier, slower, like time is bending strangely over their bodies. She eases him inside her, then licks her bloody fingers clean.

Grabbing her by the hips, Peter watches her toned waist flex and undulate above him. MJ feels incredible around him, so hot and tight as she rides him languidly, taking all of him in. 

The pendant on her choker clinks with each thrust, and her long white fangs press into her soft lips, holding in a cry. He wants to make her whine again.

She bites her lip bottom lip and shivers, bracing herself against his chest. He can tell that she's trying to maintain her self-control and move slower than she'd like, her legs quivering from the effort.

Peter is almost spent but he knows what MJ really wants, so he flips her over roughly to take her from behind, groaning as he sinks into her hot wetness. 

"Fuck," she moans throatily. "Just like that, fuck, Peter.. yes…!"

MJ keeps muttering dirty nonsense as he hammers furiously into her, urging him to do all sorts of things to her. Feeling the pressure build, Peter tugs at her hair and keeps going until he can't hold back any longer. 

With great effort and self control, he pulls out and finishes on her lower back. Still kneeling on all fours, MJ looks back at him over her shoulder, smiling smugly.

"So, I think we're square, Spider-Man. That was a pretty good meal, to make up for last night."

Reaching for his discarded undershirt, Peter begins to wipe down her back. "Good. We should do it again, though, to make sure it wasn't just a fluke."

"Right, of course," she agrees.

"Come over to my place next time?"

"You'll have to invite me in, Peter."

She's blushing a lot for a dead girl, and only because she's filled with his blood. But in that moment, MJ's so full of life that Peter can almost imagine being happy again. 

He nods, his thumb reaching for the dried blood smear on her chin. "I will, MJ. I'll let you in."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The season of Vampire!MJ is here and the renaissance of vampire MJ content has been SENDING me, I love this fandom so much!
> 
> Couldn't help myself from adding to this little fic, hope you enjoy some gothy vibes and no plot!

_"Her glow was not of that nature. She was much more like fire than light."_

_—Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus_

===

"Don't take this the wrong way, Pete, but maybe this is more of a casual hook-up thing for goth girl?” suggests Harry. “I mean, you guys still only see each other at night, right?"

"Her name's MJ," Peter replies stubbornly, even though he knows how petulant he sounds. "And it's not just a hook-up."

Harry exchanges a look with Ned and turns back to Peter. “Come on, man. Leeds told me about how you keep putting off a double date with him and Betty. And it’s been what? Over two months since you two started screwing, and none of your friends have seen her again? It’s cool if you’ve got an arrangement going on, but—”

“We don’t. It’s not an _arrangement_ ,” Peter grits out, trying to convince himself, too. “I like her, okay? And she likes me back. Is that so impossible to believe?”

"Of course not,” Ned cuts in. “It’s just—we both know you're a relationship guy, and it makes sense that you'd want to jump into one quickly, like you did with Gwen—"

"Don't." Peter shakes his head at his friends.

"We just don't want to see you get hurt, bud," says Harry.

"MJ won't hurt me," Peter snaps, feeling defensive.

"Okay, okay, whatever you say! Just don't let some chick bleed you dry," Harry advises sagely, holding his hands up in defeat. "I'm just speaking from experience."

"Nah, I don't think Peter's got anything a gold-digger would be looking for," says Ned, trying to lighten the mood. "No offense, dude."

"Dude! Thanks a lot," Peter grumbles, though he does feel a little better.

"What? Just saying that whatever she sees in you, it's not your non-existent money," says Ned, patting Peter on the shoulder.

"Gentlemen, it's not just money she could be after. It's your time and sanity, too. Don't let her get into your head," adds Harry.

"Too late," says Peter.

It's true, more so than his friends realize. He can't stop thinking about Michelle, even when he really should be focused on something else—like he’s fighting some guy in a mechanical scorpion suit who’s trying to stab him, or trying to web up all the passengers of an overturned bus. But he always finds his thoughts drifting back to her.

Inevitably, Michelle's luminous face makes its way to the forefront of his mind, haunting his dreams, even when he’s awake. The way she gasps his name when she comes—he hears it in the shadows now, calling to him.

Some nights during patrol, he can feel with his spider-sense that she's tailing him, hidden and unseen in the shadows. It tingles gently at first, like fingers caressing his scalp, then the feeling gets more insistent and tugs at his hair, demanding his attention.

Then just as he gets back to the roof of his apartment building, Michelle springs out of the darkness and pounces on him. He catches her in his arms and spins them around beneath the moonlight.

Soon, Peter has an arm around her head, her mouth buried in the crook of his elbow. He pulls Michelle flush against his body, savoring her smooth skin and restless writhing.

When he feels the sharp prick of her fangs breaking the skin in his arm, Peter thrusts his hips and pushes into her from behind, making Michelle moan and suck harder.

Her throat is gurgling as she drains him, her body writhing as he moves inside her, nice and slow. Her skin is preternaturally cool and smooth all over, but she's hot and slick around him.

He's sweating on her, thrusting into her as she sucks on his arm, until she finally lets go with a gasp. Drunk on his blood, Michelle rolls over, panting, with red smears on her chin and down her neck. Her face is flushed and her chest heaving, her brown nipples aroused and swollen.

"You taste so good," she pants, her eyes glinting red beneath her dark lashes.

A thin trickle of his blood runs down the corner of her lips, dotting his pillowcase with crimson specks.

The last time Aunt May was over at Peter's apartment, she had given him some grief over the stray bloodstains she found on his sheets, reminding him to take it easy on patrol and to call if he needs help.

He made up some excuse and assured her he was fine, promising that he'd call next time—anything but tell her how the blood really got on his bedsheets.

As patient and open-minded as May is, he doesn't think his aunt will understand this at all.

His friends' words are still rattling in his head. _It’s not an arrangement._

"Hey, what are we doing?" he asks. "Us, I mean. Is this… just a temporary thing or…?"

Michelle turns her head over to face him, cheeks rosy and eyes glassy from feeding.

"Everything is temporary, " she deadpans.

Peter traces his fingers along her back, the smooth lines that curve over her bones, dipping and rising like sand dunes. "I mean us, is this just a fling?"

Running her fingers through her thick hair, Michelle nods. A heavy, sinking feeling drops in Peter’s chest. When he turns to hide the crestfallen expression all over his face, she reaches out for him.

"But if it helps, a fling for me could be a lifetime for you," she adds softly. "The decades you have left would be like no time at all to me."

That's good enough for him, Peter decides, and he loses himself again to the red-tinged haze of being with her.

===

Scrunching his face up, Peter blinks awake when a beam of sunlight slips through the slit between the drawn curtains and shines directly across his eyes. Groaning, he sits up, finding himself alone.

A carafe filled with water sits on the side table. Peter can't help the smile taking over his face when he reads the note left next to it.

_Pizza in the ~~icebox~~ refrigerator. Don't open the coffin. —MJ_

He grins and folds up the note.

_===_

_“I can’t let you go so soon, Gwendy. When you’re in my arms, everything seems right again. No matter what happens now, no matter what problems may come along, they won’t mean a thing.”_

_“Don’t talk, Mr. Parker. Just hold me.”_

Peter’s never been to the beach at night before, not unless he counted that time when he was fifteen and almost got crushed to death fighting the Vulture on Coney Island.

It’s peaceful and eerie, the sound of crashing tides somewhere out there in the darkness. Michelle seems to glide beside him, effortlessly keeping pace like a tall shadow.

They stroll along the boardwalk, taking in the quiet coolness and indistinct chatter from afar. Broken glass and cigarette butts litter the ground, and Peter kicks an empty bottle towards an overflowing garbage can.

Veering down the wooden steps to walk onto the sand, Michelle leads them out towards the pitch black of the water, and he follows her without protest into the darkness.

"I don't have much luck when it comes to dating," he admits, scratching the back of his neck. "My life's kinda weird, and missing commitments or always being embarrassingly late doesn't help. It's a lot to ask of someone to put up with."

"I don't have much luck getting close to people, either," she replies, clasping her hands together in her lap. "On account of the bloodsucking and immortality. So, you know, my un-life's kind of weird, too."

Under the cover of darkness, Peter finds it easier to talk about Gwen—her life, her death, what it feels like to lose her over and over again in his memories.

He knows it's poor etiquette to talk about a dead ex on a date. His friends might even call it morbid and depressing.

But it's different with Michelle. Everything is different with her, but especially this.

Peter doesn't feel judged or pitied when he tells her about the day that still haunts him, or the endless stretch of days that followed.

"Sometimes I think it's harder being the one left behind," he says.

"It is," Michelle agrees. He can't really make out her face in the dark save for the moonlight outlining her profile.

Peter tells her that he thought he and Gwen would spend the rest of their lives together, only to realize she'd only spend the rest of hers with him.

Michelle tells him she understands what that feels like, outliving the ones you love.

"The dead don’t have to live with it, but we do,” she says, digging her bare feet into the damp sand.

Peter shrugs and brings her cold hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Are you saying you're more like us living folk than the dead, then?"

She smiles, her white fangs shining in the silver moonlight, but doesn't say anything.

Wrapping a hand behind her neck, he pulls her close and kisses her on the mouth. The waves roll at their feet, icy as death, and Peter digs his feet in deeper to anchor himself as his mouth moves down her throat to her chest, right over her unbeating heart.

Later that night, the waves inside of her roll and churn, over and over, until she crests and they come together, rolling in the sand.

===

She didn’t expect to like him so much.

Well, she _did_ expect to enjoy the taste of him, but the pleasure of his company was a pleasant surprise.

It had started out as mere curiosity, when Spider-Man unexpectedly swooped in to 'save' her from her dinner that night. Then it was the thrill of hunting down her prey that drew Michelle into following him and studying his habits, so she could strike at the next opportunity.

Even from afar she could smell how powerful his blood was, could sense it pumping hotly through his veins as he swung across the skies in that tight red and blue suit, and she was ready to do anything for a taste.

The prospect of having that hot virile blood gushing in her mouth was enough to entice Michelle into seeking him out the next night, when he was more vulnerable as just Peter, spending the night out with his human friends. There, she would seduce him and lure him over to her place, as simple as any other meal.

When she first saw him in the bar, she thought he looked as shy as a lamb being led to slaughter. She was a wolf sharpening her fangs.

"You've been staring at me," he said when she first approached him.

She didn't want her quarry to have any excuse to run, so she smiled and didn't tease him too much—just enough for him to relax.

Despite his soft smile and doe eyes, Peter's blood simmered with a raw kind of power beneath the surface, and Michelle appreciated the way his muscled arms and shoulders filled out his shirt.

The sleeves were rolled to the elbows to expose the veins and sinews of his strong forearms, and she swears she almost started to salivate right then and there.

After a few seconds of the door buzzer going off, Peter opens the door with a bright smile on his face. "Hi. You came."

His heartbeat is so loud it's all she can hear save for the blood in his veins rushing like a roaring river throughout his body.

Michelle stands at the doorstep to his apartment, wringing her fingers. "Um, I can't, unless you…"

“Oh right! Sorry. Please come inside.” Peter bows and sweeps his arms grandly to usher her over the threshold.

"Thanks," she smiles, feeling awkward as she gingerly steps into his home. "Hope I'll be saying that to you later." 

"What? Oh. Oh!" Peter's face goes completely scarlet, and Michelle swallows back a laugh. He's too easy to tease, and entirely too cute when he gets flustered. It's infuriating.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks when he's recovered himself.

"Already? No foreplay?" she asks, letting him take her coat.

He chuckles lightly and leads her to his kitchen.

"In case you want a snack when I'm not around," he explains, showing her the blood packets lined up in his refrigerator.

It warms her dead heart that he'd want her around at his place, even if he wasn't home.

"You just happen to have blood transfusion equipment lying around?" she asks.

"I try to keep a backup supply, since I never know when the whole vigilante thing will leave me bleeding out," he chuckles, "again, that is. Just filled a couple extra ones this time." He winks, like it's sly and charming, but scrunches his entire face to do it.

"Dork."

"Just trying to keep my girl fed," he quips back, but catches himself, eyes blinking at her. "I mean, not that you're mine or anything."

His cheeks flush prettily, and Michelle feels her hunger rise.

She's used to feeling numb, empty. Serene. Some days pass by in a blink, and then years. She used to fight so much more, get involved, try to make a change, but then nothing ever really changes, and then she gets tired.

But Peter makes her feel alive, burning with desire—not just for his body and blood, but a desire to live and feel something.

Michelle likes having him right after his patrols, when he's still hot and sweaty—dirty in the way only living things can be dirty. She likes to inhale that spicy musky smell of his body, to taste the salt on his skin and touch the vulnerable flesh beneath his suit.

"Sorry if I reek, I haven't showered yet—"

"That's okay, c'mere tiger," she says, pulling him in for a kiss.

And then they're in his bed, all tangled up, and he's pulling off her clothes while she nips at his jaw.

"Careful," he warns, grinning, "I don't want you to finish quite yet."

She wraps her arms around the squirming, living, breathing body on top of her, feeling the weight of his muscles pressing her into his mattress. Peter could still easily overpower her, vampire or not, she muses as he kisses her neck, and he probably has no idea.

Her body is silence, a mausoleum to something gone. But his body is brimming with life in all of its grunting, pumping, and squelching glory. The air whooshing through his lungs, the blood surging through every capillary and vein, acid and bile churning in his guts—all those incessant sounds of being alive.

When he's inside her, the cacophony of his body echoes throughout hers, making her almost feel alive herself.

Closing her eyes, Michelle concentrates on his hot breath on her neck, the steady rhythm of his movements as he pushes in and out of her, the blood gushing in his veins…

She meets him with each push of his hips, bracing herself for that exquisite pain that melts into pleasure, over and over.

The hot metallic liquid floods her mouth, and she drinks it up greedily. Her head is spinning, the ecstasy like a fire in her veins.

His sweaty skin slides against her cool marble flesh, marking her all over until she smells like him, and Michelle wonders if she's claiming him or if it's been the other way around this entire time.

Her limbs slither around him under the cover of darkness, dragging him into her undertow, and he gives into her.

She keeps sucking him as he spills himself inside her, filling her in both ends, hot and thick, until she can't take any more. 

Her head spins as his living blood rushes through her veins like fire, and she writhes in his arms, tasting his blood and sweat as he touches her again.

Afterwards, she rests her head against Peter's chest and listens, like she's searching for the ocean inside a conch shell.

There's an entire universe inside of him, softly calling out to her with each heartbeat. She listens to the thumping slow down as he drifts off, falling deeper into sleep, looking as peaceful as a corpse.

A strange tightness forms in Michelle's chest at the sight of his repose, a familiar cold feeling that she can't quite name.

It's on the tip of her tongue, bittersweet and taunting—it's been so long since she's felt it, and she doesn't think she could bear that special kind of sorrow again. But it's too late anyhow, there's no escaping it if she were to lose him.

 _When_ , she reminds herself, _when_ she loses him. 

Unless.

She chuckles quietly to herself, dismissing the fleeting and whimsical thought, and curls up against Peter. 

**Author's Note:**

> That's all folks! Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed and might want to see more like this?


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